How Much to Tell You?

It’s hard to know how much to reveal about my life, especially where Odie’s privacy is concerned.  Sometimes I’d like to write about subjects like my marriage in depth, but I know Odie wouldn’t want that out there.  I suppose if the tables were on the other foot, I wouldn’t like him revealing private things about me either.  We’ve been going through a rough patch.  All marriages have them, I hear.  Back when our relationship was new, I could not imagine our marriage having rough patches.  I believed us to be so uniquely suited to one another, so in love in an unprecedented way, that the rules didn’t apply to us. Silly, naive beliefs of someone deeply infatuated.  All of our problems have been textbook new parent problems. Nothing unique there. 

Happier Times


I want to blog all about it.  Tell you every detail of our painful arguments and cold silences. It would be cathartic for me, and perhaps helpful to you in some way.  A cautionary tale of marriage and parenthood.  But I think I have to settle for telling it to the marriage counselor we will soon be seeing.  That’s another thing I couldn’t imagine back in those heady days of early infatuation: going to a marriage counselor.  I thought it was a sure sign of a marriage heading for divorce, the last futile attempt to fix something irreparably broken.  Or a half-hearted concession on the part of one partner to appease the other before leaving, so they could tell their friends they tried everything.  The truth is, Odie and I don’t communicate well since we had Baby V.  Each of us makes assumptions about the thoughts and motivations of the other and then reacts to them.  It’s a negative and damaging pattern.  For example, Odie loves sexytimes.  He’s SUCH a boy that way.  To him, sexytimes are the ultimate expression of love and devotion.  Nothing says “I love you” like a romp in the sack.  Conversely, if I don’t romp in the sack with him, it means I no longer love him.  It means I hate him.  It means I think he’s a disgusting, horrible person.  Assumptions are very dangerous.  So we are going to marriage counseling to get someone objective to tell Odie that I am right and he is wrong.

No, to teach us to communicate better and compromise more.

Right now, Odie is talking to me about the teams in today’s World Cup Soccer game, and I am trying to listen with one ear while I type.  He is using Baby V’s toy saxophone to make an improvised vuvuzela (yeah, lucky me).  He got up early to wash his one orange shirt so that he could help the Netherlands win by wearing orange.  We also have Baby V dressed in orange, because this will make all the difference in whether or not the Dutch beat Uruguay.  The game is about to start.  We never watch tv together.  TV is a passion of mine, and he couldn’t care less about it.  It’s actually nice to have something we are both watching.  He is on the verge of feeling like I do not care what he is saying because I am writing instead of responding to him, so off I go for now.  Oranje!


About Mrs Odie

Friendly Pedant; Humble Genius
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5 Responses to How Much to Tell You?

  1. Jessie says:

    Good luck with therapy. I mentioned that to G as well but she’s not open to it. You could always do password protected posts?

  2. mrsodie2 says:

    It has taken Odie a LONG time to be open to therapy. I finally told him it was either therapy or we join the Church of Scientology.

  3. Sharky says:

    I found my way here through Celebitchy, and while I know it’s absolutely none of my business, I just wanted to tell you that I can relate in full to your marital issues. My husband and I hit a terrible patch just after our first son was born. I have a seizure disorder (not sure what the difference is between this and actual epilepsy, but I’m just going with what the docs say), so between the related meds and the intense sleep deprivation, I was a zombie. He did his best to understand, but eventually, when my sex drive didn’t bounce back, it became an issue. He felt cast aside, and I felt pressured, and on and on — you know the drill. Then, just when things starting to kind of, sort of, get back on track … I got pregnant again (unexpectedly, of course), and the whole cycle repeated itself. It was worse this time around, but my youngest is now nearly three and my husband and I are finally in sync after what I came to believe was the end of our union. I suppose this is my long-winded way of saying that this is a common problem we women face, but don’t really want to admit to or discuss for fear of others thinking, “She’s not putting out! What a callous bitch!”

    Therapy is good. Like you said, you’ll have a neutral mediator to help you through it. You can do this.

  4. Kari says:

    As you know, all marriages can survive these rough patches. Hang in there, my friend! Love you both!

  5. Carrie says:

    Thanks, Sharky!

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